In a Blaze Of Glory
by Kitsune Alchemist
Summary: Someone's got to stop this; someone's got to remind people about the way it used to be. This is our time. We get to choose whether to shine or go down fighting. And if you aren't with us, then you're against us.


Disclaimer: All ideas recognized as belonging to others are copyright to their respective owners. All ideas not belonging to others are copyright to Kitsune Alchemist.

* * *

"Fine, I'll do it," I agreed. My agreement was bitter, but I looked at the scuffed up pokeball in the grass and knew I was doing right. Still, my knees shook with anger and nervousness and fear. I only had one pokemon. He had three. What if I lost? This was about a lot more than some money.

"Chikorita, go!" He yelled, grabbing a ball with a green sticker on it and releasing his pokemon onto the grass between us. A grass pokemon. Perfect.

Maybe it'd be okay, I reasoned.

Draco leapt forward, claws sharp and tearing, his breath coming out in little puffs of fire. The poor, leafy little pokemon didn't stand a chance, soon trembling with the exertion of even staying on its feet.

"Chikorita, tackle," the boy ordered sharply, taking no regard for its exhaustion. I looked at him in disgust.

"Come on! The poor thing's shaking. Just call it back and send out your second pokemon," I cried out, but the Chikorita was stumbling forward, blindly obedient. I winced and conceded, "Dray, be careful okay? Don't hurt it, but don't let it hurt you either."

The little monster replied, voice rumbling up from his throat in a high-pitched cry of his species' name. Then he began a game of tag. It wobbled near, he jumped back just in time. It threw a few weak leaves at him, he burnt them to cinders. They didn't make contact at all, just danced, but Draco was in much better shape after the earlier scuffle. The other pokemon collapsed, panting heavily and shaking where it lay.

I wanted nothing more than to scoop that one up as well, cradle it in my arms and make it feel better. I don't even _like_ grass types. But that just wasn't right.

The trainer across from me realized he wasn't getting anything more out of his pokemon and snorted. The spatter of red light pulled the pitiful little thing back in to what I could only hope was safety and he pulled his second pokemon off his belt.

This time, a little creature with flames on it's back appeared and shot a jettison of flame. Draco was hit full force, but it barely even hurt him. He just gave a little sound like a chuckle and skipped forward, scratch attack at the ready. The pokemon was hit and fell back, getting up angrily.

Another plume of fire, another failure. If anything, the blaze of his tail seemed to brighten as the attack hit him. He took another one, and inhaled as it struck. I gave a brilliant laugh. "Draco, Metal Claw."

He listened and sent the other pokemon to the ground in a crumbling heap.

"Cyndaquil, quick attack," the boy growled, and it obeyed. Draco caught it by the paw and spun, releasing. It crashed into the ground, sliding into a rock. It wailed as if in pain, and for the first time, the boy's face contorted in sadness.

"Get up, Cyndaquil," he plead, voice raw with emotion. I scowled. This was obviously his starter, and the favoritism made me sick. I wouldn't ever do that – I loved Draco, but I wouldn't torture my other pokemon and then treat him like a prince. That was just cruel.

It whined like a young child, and he called it back. I frowned – hadn't he specifically said before that he hated weak pokemon? But the Cyndaquil was acting like a baby and he was pampering it. It was going to grow into a weak fighter, I could tell, and I didn't even know that much about pokemon. Draco scoffed, same as I had, and we both made faces at each other.

We didn't even bother to pay attention to the last pokemon appearing to face him – until we saw the little thing. It practically skipped, mouth open to show off a row of very sharp teeth and a burst of…

Water. It had to be water. Water was no good to us. I had a pretty solid plan to get around the issue of my chosen specialty in future, but for now, he was pretty much screwed. And I had just made the worst wager of my life.

Draco looked at me for instructions, realizing the dilemma, and calculations ran through my head. "Okay, uh. Smoke screen. We idon't/i want him to hit you. Then get ready for some rapid-fire scratches and metal claws," I said quietly, not wanting to spill my strategy this early in the game, "As fast as you possibly can, Dray. Then back off. Don't get hit by the water. If your tail goes out, we're done for."

Draco nodded solemnly, understanding me exactly. We had to play this game more solidly than maybe any other battle. I didn't have a back up. We didn't get a second chance.

He used the strategy perfectly, played the game like an expert, but he was at a disadvantage, and it was easy to see. Bubbles, easily the weakest of water attacks popped on him and he gave little cries of horror. Never mind the fact that he was barely dancing out of the way of poorly aimed jets of water that sprayed from the little monster's mouth.

By the time the smoke was clearing out, both of them were exhausted, Draco trembling and shivering, his scales hissing with steam, and the little blue alligator by the name of Totodile, covered in scratches and cuts that leaked blood. I felt bad, my stomach curling and trying its best to revolt. I felt like I was going to be sick, but I couldn't lose. I couldn't.

"Dray, come on, we've gotta do this," I said, eyes watering. This had been a bad idea from the start. I knew the stakes here, and I had gone up against someone whose pokemon I didn't know. I should have known that he had a water pokemon – almost everyone did.

Again, he replied with his own name, weakly, softly. The other pokemon opened its mouth, spitting water, but it splashed to the ground in front of Draco, barely splashing up to hit his belly. Draco gave a weak sound of protest, backing away. The Totodile moved forward, opened its mouth, took a deep breath and spat. Bubbles swam in flurries around Draco, bursting on his skin like pale imitations of bombs.

Draco gave a wail of pain and crumpled, the light on his tail flickering dimly. It threatened to go out, and the Totodile just advanced, eyes bland and glazed over, but clearly focused on the pokemon before me. Dray wasn't moving, not uttering a sound, but the wail went on and on and I realized that is was coming from my own lips.

I moved, wrapping my arms around Dray to shield him and hissing in pain as high-pressure water hit my back. But Dray was safe. That was all that mattered. He was safe. Safe, just in time for me to lose him forever.

* * *

I was really late – like, not even just a few hours. More like a few years.

Most kids started their adventures on their 10th birthdays, maybe 11th or 12th if they were super late. But I was on my way to get my pokemon today, on my 15th birthday. Late is kind of an understatement.

But I had some issues for the past few years, and I had to get things settled. My mom got really sick when I was nine and she couldn't take care of herself, and my dad hadn't been around for years and years. I think when I was ten, part of my want to go on a journey for to try and find him, but now, I had a better grasp of reality, and I knew it wasn't going to happen.

It took almost three and a half years to get her completely well. And then, just when she was getting better, my sister…

We were too young, we both knew that, but we had wanted to go to the lake so badly. She was the strong swimmer; I couldn't swim, still can't, so there was no way for me to save her.

Mom cried for months and months and almost had a relapse. I locked myself in my room and didn't come out. I blamed myself for the longest time. And when I did come out, I was more set than ever.

She had wanted me to go on my journey, had wanted to see me become a champion. I wanted to do that more than ever, but as far down as I reached, I couldn't stop being afraid of the water that had taken my sister from me, and knew I wouldn't be able to handle a water pokemon. My dreams of the cute turtle pokemon were cast to the wayside.

I was going to be strong, I was going to be able to fight without a water pokemon. I was going to stay as far from water as possible. Fire, I decided. That was as far from water as you got. And I was going to do it for her: I was going to be the greatest and make her proud.

So today, I was heading for the lab to get my pokemon.

The wind whistled overhead, hissing over shingled roofs and making my goal of the lab a virtual safe haven. Often, I regretted having been born in February, and not just because of the mind-scarring notion that my mother's birthday is exactly 9 months before mine. It was actually because I recognized that the first leg of my pokemon journey would be spent traipsing through clumps of slushy mud that stuck to the bottom of my jeans and filled my shoes, numbing my toes. The first leg would be a cold and sore one, and I wouldn't even have a whole team of fire pokemon to keep me warm.

I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, fumbling with the zipper to try and force it further up around my neck, but it jammed about halfway up. Today was a terrible day to start out, but tradition was tradition, and I was going to leave on my birthday, if a bit late.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I entered the lab. I had to practically break my jacket to get it off, but it finally came undone and I hung it near the door before going to find Professor Oak. The assistants let me through with a thin smile, and a few that I knew better wished my luck. Finally, I found him in the back, studying something on a small table.

He was pale from lack of sleep, and he had rings under his eyes. But he had always looked like that to me. If I had to really pick a word for it, it would probably be weary. Not in a lack of sleep way, though that probably played in, but more like world-weary. Like he had seen too much, experienced too much, and was now just ghosting through life. I kind of felt bad for him.

"Professor Oak," I questioned, and he turned to look at me with a blink of surprise.

"Oh," he said, a small smile appearing and softening the hard lines of his face. "Natalie. Hullo."

I shook my head. "I thought I'd said to call me Nat, Professor."

"I thought I'd said to call me Gary. Professor Oak was my grandfather. I'm not that old yet."

"Right," I confirmed, nodding. "Uhm, I'm here to get my pokemon. Can I…?"

"Yeah, yeah. 'Course. Ten already?" He said.

"I, uh…" I stared hard in disbelief until he managed a thin laugh and I realized he was joking.

"Don't look so serious, Nat," he advised. I bit back the sarcastic reply that he _really_ shouldn't be talking. "Happy fifteenth. Hard to believe it's been ten years since you came to live here. Hard to believe it's been two since Beth… well…"

We both stood in somber silence for a moment. Finally, he touched my arm to get my attention again and showed me through a small door that I had never been through. Along the wall were rows and rows of little red and white pokeballs. In the middle were three on a stand.

"Those are Charmander, Squirtle, and Bulbasaur. All male. Sorry if you preferred a female, but I need all the females to breed more of them for all the other adventurers."

"No, no. It's fine. I – can I have the Charmander?"

I reached out and palmed the ball, warm against my palm. I wondered if it was because it held a living being, or if it was because the living being was a fire pokemon. Either way, when a thumbed the button, a red light wisped a little red salamander into existence. It grinned a toothy grin at me and butted its head against my hand, cooing cutely and, "Chaaaar!"

I bit into my lip to keep from squeaking and hugging the little creature to death.

"He likes you," Gary confirmed, and I grinned at him. He smiled back, "Have you thought of a nickname?"

"Uh, I've been researching old mythology and stuff, so… I wanna call him Draco if that's okay."

"That's fine," he confirmed, and handed me Draco's ball, a few extra, a belt to hold them all, and a pokedex.

I swallowed tightly and nodded my thanks. We discussed a few last things before he showed me out, reminding me to grab my jacket on the way out. I did so, tucking Draco's ball onto my belt. When it was warm and sunny, I had no problem with letting Draco out to walk beside me, but making a Charmander walk through slush was just mean.

And so, my journey began

I had known for a long while that the first few routes didn't have any fire pokemon, but I hadn't realized how much that really limited me. By the time I got to Viridian Forest about a week or so later, I still only had Draco, though he was doing well and had learned two brand new moves. He was walking beside me, keeping me warm as we traveled through the forest.

The snow hadn't fallen through the canopy, so the ground was wet from the melting ice, but there wasn't any actual slush or snow. Still, it was freezing cold, and the wind shook the trees and ripped into skin. At these times, Draco and I both protested, but he refused to go back into his ball. At night, we snuggled into the crook of tree roots, Draco made a small fire to keep the bugs away and we slept for a few brief hours.

I was dying for a bath, Draco was getting tired from fighting off all the bug pokemon that attacked us, and we were both flat out exhausted. It was near the exit however that I found him. He was a teenage boy with dark hair and cold amber eyes. He was, at the moment I first saw him, raging violently and lashing out with his foot at the body of a small creature. It howled in pain and I scowled.

"Hey!" I yelled, rushing toward him, and he looked up. He grabbed a pokeball and sucked up the shape before I could get a real good look at it. Then he dropped the ball, sending it tumbling down to thump against the ground sharply. I winced. That couldn't be pleasant for the pokemon inside. "Quit that! What are you doing?"

"I'm disciplining a weak pokemon. It doesn't do what it's supposed to!"

"Then train it! Don't hurt it!"

"Who are you to criticize my style?" he snarled, looking me over. Had I not been furious, I might have felt self-conscious with the state I was in. But I was too angry, and Draco was making a startling half-growl, half-hissing noise that was only backing me up.

"Someone who obviously gives a lot more of a damn about pokemon than you do," I hissed.

"If you care so much, then trade me. I'll give you this weak-ass pokemon for your Charmander."

"No! No way! You'll probably just beat him up for no reason, and I'd never forgive myself. Plus, I'd never trade Draco!" I was furious at the suggestion, and Draco butted up against my leg, glowering.

"Fine," he said, considering for a second. His eyes flickered over me, evaluating. "I'll battle you. If you win, you can keep your pokemon and take this one too. But if I win, we trade. Deal?"

"Didn't I just say no! I'm not trading Draco!"

"Then I'll just keep training this little bastard my own way. Move on. It's none of your business," he said, and turned away. It wasn't fully though, like he was actually still waiting on a response.

I swallowed, but Draco nudged me again and nodded, snarling, "Char."

I shook my head. "No. No, I can't."

He just looked at me for the longest time, and finally, bitterly, I turned back to the boy who was – I cried out in protest again, anger flushing through me – kicking the pokeball around like a soccer ball.

"Fine, I'll do it," I agreed.


End file.
